Forget
by Shadowed Heart
Summary: A night in Hogsmeade - can the drink help him to forget?


Forget  
  
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Author's Note: Rated R for rape - I attempted to delve a bit deeper into Severus this time, looking for an earlier, darker side. I apologize if the circumstances offend anyone.  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, poor tormented Severus isn't mine.  
  
---  
  
Head bent against the biting January wind, Severus Snape had blindly fought his way through the majestic, swirling veil of snow that suddenly had descended upon Hogsmeade, his black cloak clutched tightly about him in a failed attempt to ward off the chill frost of winter, to find himself enveloped by the smoky environment of the local pub. A red haze had threatened to overtake his vision since he'd been jolted from sleep two hours before dawn; he needed to take flight, needed steady ground beneath his feet, before he went mad.  
  
Though his skin had begun tingling the instant he'd stepped into the crowded warmth of the atmosphere, for Severus, there would be no escape from the stinging cold that was ruthlessly burrowed deep within him.  
  
The weather outside was cold, and as Severus sat, silently hidden by a black mask of shadows at a lone corner table on the outskirts of the bustling noise, he observed the perfect crystalline flakes that eddied into mindlessly dizzying spirals beyond the glass pane of the window. Night was fast approaching, and the few passersby who remained on the quaint, cobble-stoned streets hurried on, hoping for home before the heavy storm clouds split apart and blanketed the town once more in layers of heavy snow.  
  
Clutching a bottle tightly in one hand, he poured a slow stream of glittering amber liquor to the rim of a short, clear tumbler. With a silent toast to the nefarious, unglorified days of old that haunted him still, he raised the glass to his lips with a shaking hand. It was the first sip - always the first sip - that left behind the burning and the bitter taste, but as the level of alcohol in the bottle decreased with time, a warmth stored in the pit of the professor's stomach began to radiate outwards. When the numbness that had been sought for found him, Hogwarts' Potion Master felt the careful control slip from his hold.  
  
And still he could not forget.  
  
---  
  
The moon had shone pale against the backdrop of the inky sky, bathing the world in an argentine glow and leaving pale splashes of silver on the black canvas of night. Cold, glittering drifts of snow clung to the little town, concealing rooftops and pavement alike.  
  
Nearly twenty years before, it had been a different time - a time of danger, of death. A time when the world lived in constant fear. And he had been a different man. Younger, impressionable, more foolish.  
  
Vengeful.  
  
Only the barest glimmer of faint light from the street lamps filtered into the narrow alley as the being hurried home, stealing wistful glances at the stars as they sparkled like diamonds in the sky above. Curls the color of honey peeked out from behind the hood of the plum-colored cloak, and slender, delicate fingers toyed unconsciously with an amethyst pendant. The soft strains of a cheerful Irish reel bounced as melodiously in the young woman's throat as it had an hour before on the violin at the pub.  
  
The contentment visible in the eyes of the youthful romantic flickered and was replaced with the hesitant strains of panic as the cloaked figure stepped into her path.  
  
Before the ability to turn and run was granted, she was knocked unceremoniously to the ground in a billowing whirlwind of half a dozen lace petticoats; chilling dampness crept through the fabric of her cloak, as she lay sprawled in the snow. A heavy hand clamped down over her mouth, muffling the piercing scream that worked its way past her lips. A blow hard enough to shatter her cheekbone followed the shrill sound of layers of material being torn from her shivering ivory form. Punishment for her struggling.  
  
He would beat her to half an inch of her life, if it were necessary.  
  
Tears leaked from terrified eyes the color of a fine mist in the early morn at the first touch of calloused hands running harshly across the length of her body, and it pleased him. He held the power. Damned if he didn't.  
  
---  
  
Enveloped by the obscuring dimness of his corner, Severus stared through bloodshot eyes at the empty bottle, willing away the image of the girl twisting in pain as he broke her spirit, bruised her body, violated her sanctity. And he'd left her there, a doll discarded by a careless owner, as the blood had spilled about her, staining the purity of winter just as he had stained the innocence of life.  
  
Reeking of alcohol, he raked his hands through his hair, scrubbed them over his haggard face. Sparkling gray eyes floated at the edge of his blurred vision, taunting him.  
  
Punishment for his struggling.  
  
There would be no blissful forgetting. Cradling his world-weary, gaunt face in his hands, a quivering intake of breath betrayed his tormented soul. The temporary warmth, the comfort brought on by hard liquor, began to dissolve, giving way once more to the frozen dread, the fear that lived deep within him. Shuddering involuntarily, he succumbed to the anguish, and uncontrollable sobbing overtook the hated Severus Snape.  
  
--- 


End file.
